


The Secret Kings

by felicia_angel



Series: The Conductors of Light [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Supernatural
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-23
Updated: 2013-10-23
Packaged: 2017-12-30 05:52:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1014908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/felicia_angel/pseuds/felicia_angel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Part 4 of the Conductors of Light Series: Casper questions the ritual to restore Gabriel, Balthazar questions the weapon of Heaven he is ordered to use to prevent Sherlock and Castiel from reaching Dean and John. As Heaven reunites, Anthea works to help Mycroft and figure out what the actual ritual means, and the hints given to her by a now-desperate Casper.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Secret Kings

_They say that the world rests on the backs of 36 living saints – 36 unselfish men and women. Because of them the world continues to exist. They are the secret kings and queens of this world. –_ Death, “Three Septembers and a January”, _The Sandman_

Lestrade sighed as he watched one of the new members of his team conduct and interview. Detective Sergeant Stanley Hopkins had only recently been assigned to him, to replace Sally after she was removed from his team, and in contrast to Sally, Stanley all but worshipped the ground that Sherlock had walked on, trying to use his methods whenever he could to find the criminal. Lestrade didn’t mind it, and honestly thought that Holmes might have liked the kid, if he’d been around to meet him. He was also certain John would find him…odd, but interesting.

Right now, they were talking to one of London’s many beggars, Hugh Boone, about a missing person’s case. Hugh stayed in a house known for drug deals, and had been hiding in the room where some of the man’s items were found, not to mention hints that another person had been making some sort of chemical or biological weapon in that room. Of course, such a thing was not really Lestrade’s division, but it was something that got him worried. He didn’t like the idea of something like that being out or being used against people, and Boone, along with Devin Lascar, had been arrested. Hopkins was a bit surprised at Boone’s arrest, considering that he’d only ever really been arrested or charged with vagrancy but always avoiding the places where he was warned away. Lascar, though, ran a house that normally had shady customers anyway, but with the news of a possible weapon being made in his home?

Boone had no idea who could have been doing the stuff in the room – he rented it out only when he had the money to pay for it, and that was only on a few good days.

Lestrade left Hopkins to deal with Boone as he went to see about Lascar. The man was sweating, shifting in his chair and standing to pace the room as Lestrade walked in and frowned at him. “Devin…need to talk to you.”

“Don’t wanna,” Devin muttered as he paced, looking worse and worse, “damn bastard, must’ve infected me.”

“You want me to call the doc? I can get one in here.”

Lascar was breathing heavy, and Lestrade started to get up and leave when he noticed blood seeping from Lascar’s forehead, beading like sweat. It was years of work that kept Lestrade from saying anything, but he still swallowed and backed away, Lascar looking over at him with his eyes turning blood-shot and more blood pouring down his face.

“the bastard…that damned bastard and his stupid whore…” Lascar muttered briefly before trying to take a step. Instead, he stumbled, and fell with a wet, sick splat as his skin parted, all but exploding on the ground like some effect on a horror film. Blood, more blood then a human body should have, spilled everywhere as the door opened frantically with a few other DIs and Sergeants looking in, everyone stumbling back as Lestrade tried to get out the door and stop himself from shaking.

\--

Dimmock is pretty sure that the dead woman they find, who is supposed to have died before, is the culprit. Mostly because she has a gun that matches the caliber of bullet they pulled out of Milverton, and also because her feet were stained with blood and some brain matter.

It didn’t help, then, that she had a wound through her middle, a strange circular type that he’d not seen before. The blow had gone through her back and through a lung, meaning the poor woman had been alive and suffering before bleeding out or choking. Whoever had killed her had been uncaring about how much damage they were doing, obviously.

Anderson walked up to him and spoke about what he found. For all that they both could bond on how many annoyed Sherlock Holmes, Anderson did acknowledge that he probably should’ve taken some of his advice. Apparently, for all he got pissed at Sherlock due to running around and potentially ruining evidence, he also worked harder to ensure whatever he found was right. With Holmes dead, and with all the new information that had come out about the setup, Anderson was working double-time to prove…well, something. Dimmock wasn’t sure, but he guessed that Anderson wanted to show he could be a good forensic analyst, one that was good enough to where Sherlock Holmes had asked him to check everything.

One that deserved the high praise gotten at the end.

“Whatever happened, there were two other men, but the ground isn’t good for footprints,” Anderson muttered in annoyance. “I wish I knew what the hell is going on.”

Dimmock nodded, slowly rising, “Do you think the others two are somewhere? As far as I can tell, they just…disappeared.”

“Because they did,” the two turned as they paused, blinking at looked over to see what looked like Ashley Frank in something that looked a bit like an exotic princess or something. She smiled a bit, and briefly reminded Dimmock of an ex’s cat, her eyes flickering to the dead body then back to the two. “I said I would leave, but considering who took them, it’s not hard for me to stay for a bit.” She glanced at Anderson and Dimmock again, her face now far too serious. “The two who came here were John Watson and his friend, Dean. They were taken, after the man killed the woman named Irene Adler. Irene killed Milverton, and good riddance.” She sounded angry before adding, “I’ve one request.”

The two blinked, dazed, and somehow Dimmock recovered enough to say, “What?”

Frank – or whoever… _whatever_ …she was – snapped her fingers and produced a bit of paper before handing it over. “Dispose of Irene in this fashion. Trust me when I say it will aid two souls to rest, not just one.”

“Oh, that’s not nice,” a voice got everyone but the Frank woman to spin, looking a man with a receding hairline that Dimmock recalled from Lestrade’s mention of the end of the case with the ears, “I could just save them some time. Never did like the demon that pulled little Bela into that contract. What do you say?”

Frank glared at him while Dimmock and Anderson remained silent. “You Crossroads sluts are always making deals. Why give her leniency?”

“Firstly, she was better alive then dead. Secondly,” he pointed to Irene, “that girl got me tricked. Twice. I’d say that puts her on my shit list, but honestly?” He smirked. “Lady would work better downstairs after she’s allowed to remain here a while longer. And with little miss Bela in a world that has even more danger?” he looked at Anderson and Dimmock then back to Frank. “These two need to be here?”

“It’s either a spell,” Frank told them, “or one of you makes a deal with a Demon. And NO,” she glared at the so-called demon, “funny business, Crowley.”

“You’re no fun. I blame that whole ‘power of free speech and the truth’ that journalists and those stupid hackers keep going for. Give you more power then is required.”

“Blame whatever you want,” Frank told him, “You get good business from it.”

The guy, Crowley (seriously?), smirked at that. “True. Alright then,” he looked to the two, “I can make this nasty thing go away, and you’ll need it. Some of the Angels are doing a rather bad spell, and it needs those two idiots they just took. And as fun as it would be to wait around and see all the mayhem, I wasn’t joking.” He waits a bit. “I clean this up – no Irene, no Bela, unsolved mystery of a slimebag who prayed on innocents and released rape-tapes for profit and his own…sick…games, and you’ll probably never see her,” he pointed to the body, “again. All I ask is that you try to find Dean and that mousy-chap he shacked up with before something bad occurs.” He glances at the Frank woman. “Well? How’s that?”

She was silent a long moment and nodded. “I don’t suggest making a lot of deals, though. Crowley’s only focus is himself.”

“Yes, but I do so enjoy screwing over the ones who think we should start up an Apocalypse.” He looked back at the men and smirk. “So then…do we have a deal?”


End file.
